


Bertie and the Change of Heart

by elliemorris



Series: Bertie in New York [2]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, M/M, New York City, Period-Typical Homophobia, Police
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliemorris/pseuds/elliemorris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a dive into the soup for Jeeves with the NYPD, Bertie rescues him from imprisonment and begins to act upon his true feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bertie and the Change of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes place after Bertie and the American Lovebird, and it would probably make more sense if you read that fic first.

The next morning I tootled along to the flat, sated but not entirely satisfied. The sun was shining its merriest and all seemed right in the world — not a hair out of line or a Glossop misplaced — yet something just didn’t seem, well, ordinary.   
As I strode down the apartment corridor on wobbly legs, my first thought was of Jeeves, and while this is not unusual, I had a sense of foreboding fluttering in the old tum. Jeeves. Jeeves and his marvellous mind. Jeeves would set things straight. Jeeves would—   
I paused in my ringing of the doorbell. It had already been twenty seconds. Jeeves would have answered by now, being a paragon among men; he had reflexes like an American superhero. Clearly things weren’t quite the norm in the Wooster-Jeeves residence. Maybe the doorbell was inadequate? I rapped harshly with my knuckles. Still no signs of life.  
Sighing, I took out my key and turned it in the lock, allowing my access to the abode. I’d always liked Jeeves to open the door to a warm, homely flat, sparkling clean from his best endeavours; it gave the place a touch of home that sent my heart shooting to the stars, as though Jeeves was my (rather masculine and well-toned, if I may say so) wife, welcoming me home after an honest day of toil. That would be the life for a normal kind of chappie — they say marriage is bliss — but the Lord above decided that He had other stations in life for me to fulfil (of which I continue to be unaware of).  
Alas, no Jeeves. Quite out of the ordinary… I decided to do some Sherlock-style investigations. Nobody in the kitchen. Nobody in my bedroom, and certainly nobody lingering in the lounge. With some small amount of trepidation, I decided to sneak into Jeeves’s lair; it didn’t feel quite preux, if you know what I mean, barging into a servant’s private quarters. After all, I already have free run of the house, and to break into the only peaceful sanctuary that Jeeves has to call his own — mercifully free of all Woosters and Traverses — was a felony to say the least.   
‘Jeeves?’ I cried, finding the room dismally emptied of all paragons.   
I tried waiting for him to arrive home, but after forty-eight hours of no Jeeves shimmering across the horizon to the young master’s aid, I began to doubt myself. Perhaps he had given me the bum’s rush after finding out my affaire de coeur with old Rocky? Why would he resign without a reference? Surely that was unheard of, to ditch the young master and biff off back to Blightey? Who would hire such a man, without reference, even if it was a marvel like Jeeves? Too many questions filled my head, which was usually fit to burst with cotton wool, so needless to say the whole thing gave me one hell of a headache.   
It was day three before I had any news, and when I heard that poor, dear Jeeves was in trouble with the New York Police Department, my jaw dropped to the ground. The very idea was laughable. Jeeves was above the law, above all men… Certainly above common crime! I thought that Rocky was off his rocker when he burst out that Jeeves was in jail.   
The exchange went as follows:  
Rocky: “Bertie, it’s awful!”  
Self: “What’s wrong, my love?”  
Rocky: “It’s Jeeves, Bertie. He’s been imprisoned by the NYPD four days ago!”  
Self: “Well why didn’t you tell me earlier, you blot?”   
Rocky (sheepishly): “After taking a nap and becoming absorbed in my poetry, it all but slipped from my mind, until now. You received a telegram from Jeeves in prison, and I forgot to give it to you. Sorry, dear thing.”  
Self: (expletives censored, as they do not befit a gentleman)  
So needless to say, I was pipped. My heart sped and I positively reeled as I read the telegram. MR WOOSTER stop I URGE YOU TO ASSIST ME stop I’M BEING HELD AT THE LOCAL PRISON CELL FOR A MISTAKE I MADE stop I SHALL EVER BE INDEBTED TO YOU stop PLEASE VISIT ME stop REGINALD JEEVES stop.   
What did he do? What could he possibly do, a man like Jeeves? Was it burglary? Had we finally been caught red handed in one of our cow-creamer-snatching escapades? Or was it something as malevolent and unforeseeable as murder? Who would he kill? Why? My headache worsened.   
All I could do was rally round and biff off to the county jail, a crummy, seedy kind of place that all ladies and children should be urged to keep away from. Now was the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. My heart all but belonged to this man — this dashing, darling, surely-not-a-felon, miracle of a valet — so I was straining at the bit and pining to see his face, even if it had to be for the last time, depending on his crime. Rocky offered to accompany me, but I wouldn’t let him. I needed it to be just Jeeves and myself.


End file.
